


The Dead Roads

by JackBivouac



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work, Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Alligators & Crocodiles, Bestiality, Bondage, Bugs & Insects, Double Penetration, Forced Orgasm, Fucking Machines, Interspecies Sex, Knotting, Monsters, Multi, Other, Parent/Child Incest, Porn With Plot, Public Sex, Rape, Slavery, Snakes, Tentacle Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-07-09 02:46:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19880326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackBivouac/pseuds/JackBivouac
Summary: Backstory oneshots deviating/derived from a Tyrant's Grasp campaign





	1. Cradle of the Grave

All was darkness and cold stone. Although Ein dimly recalled going to sleep last night in the little village of Roslar’s Coffer, they woke in a dark, stone box surrounded by the cool scent of earth. A coffin.

Ein screamed, pushing and pounding against the heavy lid. “Help! Somebody help me!”

There was a knock from the other side of the coffin. Ein gasped in relief, falling still in their stone confines. “Hey! Hey! Please, help me! I’m not dead!”

“And that’s why I don’t trust ya,” squeaked a high, fey voice from the other side.

“No, no! Please, please, you have to help me! My name’s Ein...and I don’t know how much air I have left.” Their eyes pricked with hot, desperate tears.

“Hmph. You got any weapons in there?”

Ein felt the sides of their body. They appeared to be dressed in a bodysuit clinging skin-tight to their generous curves. “Nothing, I have nothing in here.”

“Hmph. Fine, ‘Ein.’ I’ll help you out, but you do exactly as I say, got it?”

“Of course, anything.”

“You’re gonna sit up and put your hands behind your back, got it?”

Their face twisted into a mask of disgust but they forced their frown smooth. It was obey or die. “Got it.”

The blue-skinned, three-foot mite on the other side slid the lid off the coffin. Ein jolted upright as it crashed to floor of the pitch black tomb. They could not see but rather felt the blade of the fey’s sickle bite the skin of their throat.

Ein gulped. Slowly, cautiously, they placed their hands behind their back.

“That’s better, ‘Ein.’” The mite tucked his sickle back on his belt and pulled coils of rope from his looting sack. He lashed Ein’s forearms tight and secure behind their back. The second coil tightened in a loop around their throat, leashing them in his hands. “Alright. I’m Barple. And you can go ahead and climb on out.”

“I-I can’t see anything,” rasped Ein, slightly choked by the rope collar around their neck.

“Ugh.” Barple jumped down from the coffin, yanking Ein over the edge with him.

They yelped and smacked against the hard, stone floor. “Fucking ouch!”

“Get up, ya big baby. Now come on.”

Bound and leashed, Ein was hardly in any position to argue. They followed Barple’s tug through a dizzying walk of echoing halls. Suddenly, the mite froze.

“Hide. Hide!” he hissed, scurrying off. In his panic, he dropped Ein’s leash.

“Where?!” they tried not to scream.

There was a faint scrape as a long, sinuous body slithered across the floor.

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the…” In Ein’s desperate fear, their sight grew crystal clear despite the darkness.

They were in a grand hall, the walls were covered in murals depicting a man driving a sword into a metallic bull, defending a village from a spectre, delivering an impassioned speech to a crowd of adoring knights. On the far end of the room, their quasi-savior Barple cowered behind an enormous statue of that same man on horseback.

Because a ten-foot-long, two-hundred-pound snake with a fanged skull for a head slithered right toward Ein. They shrieked, scrambling back. And tripped over the winding leash at their feet.

The necrophidius rose over their fallen body, rearing for a strike. Ein’s eyes met their gaping sockets. Something unexpected happened.

The serpentine construct tilted its head. It divided forward, but instead of biting into Ein’s throat and ending their shameful plight, it wrapped them in their heavy coils and squeezed a grunt of air from their chest.

Ein squirmed in its grasp, but bound and constricted by the snake, escape was futile. The necrophidius’ head wound down. The coils around their thighs loosened just enough to allow its fangs to slice through the thin fabric over their crotch.

Ein’s eyes bulged in breathless panic. The construct couldn’t, it wouldn’t...the supernatural sight faded from their eyes, plunging them back into darkness. Just as the snake plunged thick, twin cocks through the slit of their bodysuit.

Ein shrieked through their nose, writhing helplessly in their ropes and heavy coils. The snake’s body pumped and squeezed against theirs, pistoning its raping dicks up their penetrated holes. The massive, scaled cocks tore through the walls of their pussy and anus, pounding Ein’s shafts to a spasming pulp.

They gurgled and drooled into the skull’s fanged mouth. Their back arched against the snake’s tightening coils, every limb quivering as the necrophidius slammed wave after wave of wracking orgasm into their clenched gut.

Bestial seed exploded into Ein’s vise-tight pussy and anus. The tongue lolled from their mouth, their pleasured body shuddering uncontrollably in the snake’s iron grasp. The necrophidius blasted them full to the last drop.

The coils loosened around Ein. The snake slithered off, leaving its seeded bitch bound and leaking out into the darkness in a trembling heap on the floor. 

Barple ran out from behind the statue a full five minutes later. “Holy shit! Holy shit, Ein!”

He helped them up to sitting and brushed the sweat-plastered, tweed brown locks out of their eyes. “You’re alive! You’re still alive!”

Fucked like a bitch but still alive? That was a real raw deal. 

“Great,” Ein grumbled breathlessly. “Can you untie me now?”

“No way!” said Barple, taking back their leash. “You’re my good luck charm. We’re going looting!”


	2. Insect, Incest

After an eternity looting the tomb of every valuable to quasi-valuable he could find, Barple, hunched under the weight of his lootsack, led his leashed good luck charm out from the mausoleum and into the moonlight. Dead trees adorned pale, rolling hills, each of which was covered in gravestones that marched away to the dark horizon.

Ein, finally able to see properly, raised their bowed head. Their arms jerked behind their back, the rough ropes temporarily forgotten in the light of the unnaturally large moon.

Two winged silhouettes crossed in front of the moon, descending in swift approach. The mite dropped Ein's leash and dove behind a gravestone. His rucksack, however, rendered him perfectly visible.

Ein didn't dare run down the slope bound and dangling a leash as they were. With nowhere to hide, they simply watched in growing terror as the shapes resolved into a looming, skeleton with a metallic jackal's mask for a head and a black raven in a porcelain mask.

“Oh, isn’t this a meeting of obvious fortuitousness!" chirped the ravenoid nosoi. "My name is Umble, and my silent companion here is Thoot. We mean you no harm, despite the strange harmaments you seem to have already suffered."

Ein relaxed an inch out of their instinctive flinch. "Harmam…?"

"Yes, yes, this is the land of the dead, and no, you aren’t dead yourself. You seem to be something of a special case, a touch too vitalitinous for this place.”

"Sorry, land of the dead?"

“Indeed, in Pharasma’s Boneyard, no less.”

Well, they had awoken in a coffin. "You wouldn't, ah, happen to know how I got here, would you?"

“That is as much a mysteriosity to us as it is to you. What was the last semi-fatalicious activity in which you engaged?”

"I…" The memories returned, first in flashes, then in a roughly jointed narrative.

Ein's estranged father had died. They missed the funeral but were shortly assailed by enough guilt to seek out his home town and pay respects. Only, they arrived during a local festival and was quickly swept up in the carousing.

The last thing Ein remembered was getting absolutely shit-faced under a tavern table with a masked woman they'd seen more of naked than clothed. She’d smelled amazing. "I was, uh, doing the tavern thing in Roslar's Coffer."

The taller vanth straightened to attention. Thoot pointed a skeletal claw to the entrance to a nearby valley. 

“Thoot! You hollow-headed genius!” exclaimed the bird. “You are from Roslar’s Coffer, and they are from Roslar’s Coffer. Perhaps you can help us?”

“Technically, I’m not from…”

Barple ran out from behind the gravestone, courage finally mustered. He seized Ein by the leash, yanking hard enough that they stumbled forward onto their knees with a yelp.

“Hey! Ein’s my lucky charm! You can’t just order them around!”

“Are you also from Roslar’s Coffer, my demandamacious mite?” asked Umble.

“Then you must needs hear this too. Some awful tragedy befell Roslar’s Coffer. Everyone there suddenly died overnight. Well, everyone but Ein, here.

“In any case, their souls are milling about in that valley over there. As happens on such calamitous occasions, the inhabitants won’t accept that they’ve died. Should they mill like this for long...they’ll return to your world as the restlessest undead.”

“Here is our propositionality: you do what we, as psychopomps, unintentionally muckedeth up, and we’ll tell you how to wend the road back to the Mortal Realm.”

“Barple, please, you have to let me do this,” said Ein.

The mite’s head bowed and shoulders slumped. Unlike whatever had happened to the villagers to harden their hearts toward death, the little mite couldn’t deny his own. The tomb-looting had gone too well to be anything but the truth. He sliced his sickle through Ein’s bonds.

“Thank you, Barple. I won’t forget you.”

“Yeah, yeah. You go on, get out here, not-dead-kid,” he sniffled.

Ein gave him a hug with their stiff, numb arms. “Goodbye, dead guy.”

#*#*#*#*

Winding groves of gray trees and tumbledown walls mirrored the layout of Roslar’s Coffer with simple trails in place of roads. Softly glowing figures gathered in the faded town square. Upon a wooden dais paced and preached a man with a short beard and a broken nose.

“I’ve said it a hundred times and I’ll say it again, you’re not dead! Stop lying to yourselves!”

“Shut up, Dad!”

The crowd gasped, parting like a curtain between Ein and their degenerate father. Their father’s face twitched, the air blurring and softly buzzing around him. He rose off the ground, four insectoid wings sprouting from his back.

“How dare you, you insolent slut!”

“How dare YOU! Your lies could damn everyone here to an eternity of mindless undeath.”

“They deserve it! They never respected me! You never respected me!” His face twitched. His entire body twitched. 

Ein watched in gaping horror as their father’s flesh withered close to the bone, two arms splitting into four. The insectoid claws of a wihsaak ripped out from the skin of his knuckles. 

“You never respected me.” His voice buzzed from a mouth that now opened into mandibles. “Everyone must pay. Starting...with you, child.”

Ein’s wihsaak-twisted father swooped down at them. They shrieked and ran from the square. They never made it to the curb.

Four claws seized around Ein’s shoulders and waist, hauling them kicking and screaming into the air. The wihsaak opened their mandibles wide. Thick gobs of ropey spit spewed all down Ein’s back.

“EW! Yike…!”

The father tossed and turned his child, binding them in his rapidly hardened spit. The stiffening goo locked their chest and arms as though in rock-solid stocks. 

The wihsaak forced Ein’s knees to their chest, binding both thighs in similar spit-holds to the stocks beneath the rounded globes of their tits. The father twisted their child’s arms in the stocks to bend them at the elbow and cuff both wrists behind their back. He trapped Ein’s dangling ankles in their own stocks as well.

Ein, bound and balled up in their father’s four arms, burst into panicked sobs at their helplessness. “Daddy, Daddy, let me go!”

“Shut up, sweetheart. You still haven’t learned respect. It’s time you do.”

The father pulled his child’s curled back against his chest, two arms wrapping under their thighs. His two free hands found their luscious tits, squeezing through the skin-tight fabric of their bodysuit. The father shoved his cock into the tight shaft of his own child’s pussy.

Ein screamed, their tortured face a leaking mess of snot and tears. But in such tight, inescapable bonds, they were as helpless as a babe in their father’s hands.

So his dick tore a path through the wet squeeze of their cunt. His child’s pussy was a perfect fit around his cock. In seconds, his head was pounding their sweet spot, triggering shock after shock of clenching pleasure into their walls.

Ein grunted and shrilled from their nose, their own father forcing them to climax. He let out a low, buzzing laugh and spewed his dead seed into their living womb.

Ein, utterly defeated, quivered and fell as limp as the dead themselves in the wihsaak’s arms.


	3. The Palace of Teeth

Though Ein may have been defeated, they were not alone. Two shadowed figures perched on the ridge of the highest rooftop, one large and one small.

The smaller one piped up. “Ein’s done it! They’ve accelerated their father’s transformation into a monster-osity! Come, Thoot! We have a soul to reap.”

The nosoi and vanth psychopomps flew from the rooftop and over the town square where Ein’s insectoid father fucked and held them captive. 

The wind whistled behind him. Ein’s father barely had time to turn his head before Thoot’s scythe cut clean through his neck. His head fell, eyes bulging and mouth agape in the shock of his decapitation.

Ein, barely conscious, fell less than a foot into the vanth’s skeletal, waiting arms.

#*#*#*#*

“There! There! They’re waking up!”

Ein pushed groggily up to sitting onto the cobblestone. They were on a raised roadway, Umble and Thoot perched upon its metal rail. To either side, the ground sloped away steeply into silver mist. The only landmark in sight was a tall, narrow castle rising on the horizon of moon and mist.

“Welcome to the Dead Roads, our little human friend! Are your ears prepared to hear the ancient rite of extrajurisdictational transportation to the Mortal Realm?”

“Uh, sure,” mumbled Ein, still not over the shock of being penetrated by their father, a literal insect monster.

“Very good! Like most things involving psychopomps, the Dead Roads rely on a complex bureaucracy. Specially appointed bureaucrats control way stations along the road.”

Thoot pointed a bony finger at the castle in the distance to demonstrate Umble’s point.

“Without each bureaucrat’s stamp of passage, beings tend to...slide off.”

Thoot shook their jackal-masked head sadly. Umble cleared her throat.

“Ahem. Fortunamentally for you, the route to the true Roslar’s Coffer only passes three way stations. Each way station master will probably charge for passage. Given your pauparian circumstances, I assume they’ll trade services.”

Ein’s mouth tightened to a frown. That boded ill, this ALL boded ill, but it wasn’t like they had a choice unless they wanted to end up transformed by the Boneyard like dear old Dad.

They pushed to their feet, shivering at the chill touch of air in the torn crotch of their bodysuit. “Umble, Thoot, thanks for your help.”

“Farest thee well, little human,” the nosoi chirped, flapping up on her raven wings.

The vanth gave Ein a fond pat on the head and joined their partner in the moonlight.

The human shook their head and watched them go, a half smile on their lips despite themself. They turned back to the road, eyes set on the castle upon the hill.

The closer they approached, the more morbid the details of the building became. The castle was built from weathered wood and ivory-colored stone. The walls were then studded with thousands upon thousands of teeth, arranged into neat rows and spirals. A desolate gatehouse led into a courtyard, its floor paved with yellowish bricks. And more teeth.

The hair on the back of Ein’s neck rose. They could feel themself being watched by many, tiny eyes. But as they entered the castle, all they could see were teeth.

A floor-to-ceiling stained-glass angel had teeth affixed to its too-wide mouth and attached to its fingertips. Standing suits of armor had teeth affixed to their visors to form smiles and scowls. These hollow, gnashing guards lined the walls all the way down to a large throne, its seat heaped with tattered pillows.

Upon that throne was a chunky, three-foot fairy humanoid from the waist up and fleshy insect from the waist down. Her enormous black eyes were too big for her doughy face if not for her equally oversized jaws. The tooth fairy queen wore a crown of teeth and clutched a tooth-studded scepter in her claws.

At the queen’s feet prowled what Ein could only assume was her bodyguard, a stout, hunched predator standing three feet at the shoulder and weighing three hundred pounds. The black-furred esobok had a ruff of dirty feathers and a crocodile skull for a head. The feral psychopomp growled low at their approach.

Ein immediately dropped to one knee, bowing their head. “Your Majesty, I…”

“You come for me stamp?” chirped the queen.

“Yes, Your Majesty, but I have no money.”

The queen rapped the tooth-studded head of her scepter against her own head in thought. She thought for a long time, long enough that Ein worried the fairy would knock a dent in there. 

Finally, the scepter stilled. The queen swung it down, pointing at the growling esobok. “You want stamp, you help Skritcher.”

“Is he sick?”

“No. Just full with spunk.” With that, the fey snapped her fingers.

Chains of teeth shot up from the floor. Ein yelped as a chain whipped and coiled tight around either forearm and either calf. The chains jerked taut, flattening Ein spread-eagled on their belly against the filthy carpet.

“Your Majesty, no! Please! Anything but this!”

But it was too late. With a mighty leap, the growling soul-eater landed between Ein’s forcibly spread legs. He straddled their hips, a drip of saliva splattering on their back.

“No! No!” They tugged and jerked at the chains of teeth, their body bucking against the carpet at the strain.

The feral esobok, apathetic to their struggle and protest, shoved the full weight and girth of his knotted cock into their asshole. His dick split the shrieking, sobbing human’s walls. But for all his new bitch’s squirming and squawking, their anus clamped tight around the fullness of his knot and cock.

In only a few thrusts, the esobok was pistoning right into their pathetic g-spot. His bitch gurgled as they bucked against his unyielding underbelly, the tongue lolling from their drooling mouth. The human’s anus clenched in violent spasms around his knotted dick, their head, tits, and hips beating in the crushing squeeze between his belly and the floor.

With a low growl, the psychopomp pumped the first gush of his seed into his bitch’s knotted anus. His cum toilet grunted at the deep, filling thrust, toes and fingers curling at the ends of their bound limbs. Then screeched in pained and pleasured shock as the esobok continued to nail their guts with the heavy hammer of his dick and knot.

Ein came again and again, losing consciousness as the soul-eating beast pumped them so full of his cum that their belly swelled against the filthy carpet. The esobok continued to rape his cum toilet until their asshole had swallowed every last drop of his seed.

Ein woke bleary-eyed in a puddle of the psychopomp’s cum, leaked out from between their legs. They struggled onto trembling hands and knees before the queen and the beast who’d mounted them, now snoring softly at the foot of her throne.

“A deal is deal.” The queen flew up on disproportionately small butterfly wings. In her hand she held a stamp carved from an old jawbone, its reversed sigils glowing with black, magic ink.

“Wha…?” said Ein, sitting on their knees.

The tooth fairy whacked the stamp against their forehead in answer.


	4. Good News, Bad News

The second stop, an ancient manor of dark, splintery wood rose three stories tall by the roadside. Several windows and small balconies jutted from the nine irregular, sweeping eaves of the building’s sharply pitched roof.

On the way to the front door, Ein passed a greenhouse of glass so grimy they’d couldn’t see any of the plants within. It couldn’t have been cleaned in ages.

They knocked. Nobody answered. Two knocks later, they tried the door. 

The dark wood was heavy but slid open to a vestibule barely lit by two dim, flickering lamps threatening to gutter out at any moment. The wallpaper, stained with age, was decorated with repeating patterns of snails. There were several coatracks, benches, and a rusted, iron umbrella stand all coated with enough dust to make Ein sneeze.

“Hello?” they called out, wiping their nose. They passed from one sliding door to the next.

A massive staircase of dark wood rose to the north, its maroon carpet pitted with age. The railings were carved to resemble spiders ascending lines of web. The wall atop the stairs bore an enormous, looming wedding portrait.

On it, a hunched, bearded man with curling ram horns stood with his arm around a taller, plumper figure. The man sported an old-fashioned top hat and the woman, an obscured smile behind her white, lace veil. 

They were lit by the few guttering candles remaining on a chandelier of iron and glass. Given most of the decor around here, Ein was rather glad the chandelier was too high to pick out any of its detailing. They simply sneezed at the wealth of dust instead.

“Eh? Who’s there?” rumbled a low voice from the hall beneath the stairs.

“Not a thief!” Ein called out hastily, holding up one hand to show its emptiness while pointing the other at their sigils stamped onto their forehead. “Just a Dead Roads traveller looking for another stamp.”

A wooden staff topped with a silver lamp containing a ghostly face illuminated the grizzled face of its keeper. The master of the manor was a shoki psychopomp, a horned man with an enormous snail shell on his back. His narrowed eyes gave Ein a once-over.

“For not-a-thief, you don’t seem to be carrying any money.”

“No, I’m not. Everything I have-had was left in the Mortal Realm.” Not that they were any less of a working class pauper up there. “My name’s Ein. I’ll do anything I can to earn your stamp, but preferably not by having sex with any pets.”

The shoki barked a half-startled, half-horrified laugh at that. “What?! That’s what the old tooth hag had you doing?”

The dark flush in Ein’s face was all the answer he needed. The psychopomp shook his head. “Right. No, we’re not doing that. Besides, I’m a married man. Kishok Pedipalp’s the name. I’ll give you my stamp if you help me clean this place up.”

“The, uh, entire manor house?”

The old man fixed them with a look that could only mean, “duh.”

“Right, of course! I’ll get started right away!”

“Then you’ll be needing these.” He stuck a hand into his shell, rummaged around for a bit, then passed out a full arsenal of cleaning tools, implement by implement. “Been meaning to clean this place up myself. I don’t usually go around with a cleaning closet stuffed in my shell.”

“Ha,” they laughed politely.

Mr. Pedipalp’s eyes narrowed once more. “I’ll be watching, so don’t get any ideas, Mx. Not-a-Thief.”

The first hour of supervised house cleaning in a bodysuit torn in the crotch was an act of torture unto itself. With Mr. Pedipalp proving oblivious to the mortal’s clothing faux-pas, however, Ein was able to ignore the indignity themself and get in some quality elbow-greasing. A quality that decreased as the second hour bled into a third.

By the fourth hour, Ein had to take a lie down on the floor before their aching knees gave out under them. Their entire body was sore, aching, and throbbing.

Mr. Pedipalp came and sat down beside them.

“Just taking a quick breather,” Ein said hurriedly, looking his way since they didn’t have the strength to sit up.

The shoki chuckled and shook his head. “Take as long as you need, kid. You’ve earned it. This place hasn’t been so clean since...since Pedipalp lived here.”

“Your wife loved to clean?”

“No, no, I did. I loved keeping house, maybe too much. She moved in to her workplace because it got to be a distraction. Pedipalp always did love her work.”

Somehow that was the saddest thing Ein had heard in the entire realm of the dead. They gave the old man’s hand a gentle pat. “Want to clean the rest of the house with me?”

“You know, I think I do.”

Together, or more accurately with Mr. Pedipalp’s psychopomp powers handling the brunt of the work, they finished the rest of the cleaning in record time. The shoki placed his stamp, carved into the handle of a feather duster, on the back of Ein’s hand.

“There, kid. You’re good to go.”

“Thanks Mr. Pedipalp, it’s been a pleasure.”

He turned to disappear back into the hall beneath the stairs. Then paused. "If you see my wife, tell her...tell her I said 'hi.'"

"I will. I promise." Though, unless she worked at the scriptorium, the odds of their meeting seemed highly unlikely.

#*#*#*#*

The scriptorium was a sprawling wood-and-stone structure looking like a misplaced university building here on the Dead Roads. A wide gravel path from the roadside led directly to its grand entry. Ein knocked but, again, there was no answer.

Thankfully, as suspicious as everyone was of thieves, they left still left their doors unlocked. Ein made their way into the grand, echoing entry hall.

Two wooden doors, deeply carved  
with images of quill pens and open  
books, stood to their immediate left and right. Ein peeked to the right first with a loud but uncertain "hello?"

The large, dim room contained a dozen wooden desks topped with hinged lids, each with stacks of paper and grimy inkwells. The desks were arranged in neat rows with a lectern standing at the front, exactly like a college classroom. Except for the cobwebs stretching from desk to desk and up to the walls and ceilings.

No one had been there for ages. Ein sneezed, rustling the webs without detaching them, then checked the room to the left.

Here was something much more interesting. A huge contraption of wooden beams and steel plates dominated the center of the chilly room. Narrow shelves held containers of ink, sheets of paper, and boxes with small metal cubes, each cube bearing a single letter.

"A printing press!" Ein gaped. They'd only ever heard of these machines, though they'd seen plenty of newspapers created by their ingenious cogwork.

With no one in sight, they crept toward the machine gleaming black beneath the dust like a grand piano in the moonlight. Ein shivered and wrapped their arms around their chest, teeth chattering in the cold aura seemingly centered on the printing press. "C-c-central c-c-cooling?"

Obviously not, but, then again, they had never encountered a haunt before. Five feet from the machine, it whirred into necromantically possessed life.

Rolls of paper flew from the machine, seizing and wrapping around the full length of Ein's forearms and calves. The press popped its top, revealing a maw full of inken tentacle-tongues. 

In the blink of an eye, Ein was yanked with a squawk off their feet and forced onto their knees, chest, and face against the maw of inken tongues, their arms wrenched straight down their sides and lashed by the possessed paper to their bound calves. Tentacle-tongues shoved into their mouth, gagging them with their wriggling girths. They groped Ein's breasts, waist, knees, feet, crotch, and asscheeks.

For every wriggle and writhe Ein managed in their grasp, the tentacle-tongues only grappled them tighter, crushing them against the maw's licking, sucking mass. Ein grunted helplessly, vulnerably, tentacle-tongues plunging into their grappled pussy and anus.

Their eyes bludged in pain and primal fear as the wriggling masses in their throat, pussy, and anus swelled and pistoned in brutal, wall-ripping strokes. One tenacle was thick enough but three in each orifice stuffed Ein's shafts to bursting.

And burst they did, into body-wracking orgasm. Ein convulsed uncontrollably in their restraints of thickest ink and binding paper, bucking and grinding their body into the press' licking, groping, squeezing mass. But their holes were so tightly wedged full of pounding tentacles that not a single drop of their building drool and slick could escape their deep-impaled plugs.

The possessed press, in memory of its humanoid life, exploded inken black cum into every clenched, spasming hole of the human raped upon its maw. With its current tentacles spent, it pulled out in a flood of oozing black cum from Ein's mouth, asshole, and pussy.

The tentacles were rotated out, replacing them with three new, pounding tongues in every hole of its trapped and bound mass of quivering flesh. By this time however, the noise of the press' activation and human-fucking had finally drawn the attention of the scriptorium's sole occupant.

An aranea with the torso of a wizened old woman and the underbody of a bloated, human-sized spider scurried into the room on eight, clicking legs. Her otherwise human mouth opened into four-part mandibles.

"You got an intruder, there?" croaked the old woman.

At her voice, the three tentacles pulled out of Ein's mouth with a splatter of the human's built up drool. The six in their crotch, however, continued pounding their pussy and anus into a spasming, cum-slopping mess.

"N-ngh-no," Ein grunted, drooling shamefully from the corners of their mouth. "S-s-stamp-pahhn!"

To their complete and utter humiliation, they screamed out a moan before the psychopomp like a bitch in heat, body burning with shame and animal rut.

"Disgusting," spat Pedipalp, for it could only be she from the wedding portrait. "I should just leave you here to get fucked for an eternity if you like it so much."

"N-no! M-Mr. Ped-Ped-Pedipalp, ahhhn!”

“Mr. Pedipalp? Pressy, down! Mr. Pedipalp what?”

At her order, the printing press withdrew all tongues and rolled away its paper. Ein slumped to an ink-slopping heap on its top but answered as best as they could.

“Mr. Pedipalp says ‘hi,’” they rasped. “He loves you. Misses you.”

“He didn’t say that.” It was not a question.

Ein considered lying, but the woman clearly knew her husband. They shook their head truthfully instead.

“But...that’s what he means?”

“Yes, yes.”

The old woman sighed and shook her head with a rueful chuckle. “I suppose...I suppose I ought to pop over and say hi, too. After giving you your stamp of course, ya lewd piece of work.”

Ein flushed darkly and clambered off the press with as much grace as they could muster. Not much, considering they landed on all fours.

Pedipalp clicked over. She placed a knucklebuster of printer keys engraved with sigils on one hand. She stamped the back of Ein’s other hand with a firm but painlessly press.

“That should do you, little mortal. But it’s only fair to warn you, now that you have all three stamps, the Dead Roads will take you right to their end, Deathbower. It’s...something of a no-rules zone where travellers can be hunted for sport.”

Ein raised their head to gape at the aranea. “I have no weapons. No armor. What chance do I possibly stand?”

“Not a fair one, to be sure, but you stand a chance. There’s no one who comes to travel these roads without power, whether they know it or not. Best you find your power before the hunters do.”

“I...can’t. I don’t have any power! I’m nothing! A university dropout! I can’t go back out there!”

“But you can’t stay here.”

With that, Pressy’s papers surged forth once more. They seized around the shrieking Ein’s full body and rolled the human right out of the scriptorium and down the gravel path. A wrought-iron gate swung rustily shut behind them. And for the first time since they’d begun their forced-upon journey, Ein heard the click of a lock.


	5. End of the Road

In the middle of the road, Ein pushed up to trembling hands and knees. Tears ran down the length of their shaking arms. The road shifted before.

The winding path warped straight and upward. At its crest, the gray, foggy horizon rolled off to either side of a garden of bright flowers and high hedges. A wrought-iron arch above the flower-covered hedge, read “Deathbower” in an ornate script.

The hunting ground...was a garden. That was the most aristocratic bullshit Ein had encountered on the Dead Roads, including their experience as the cumdump of the fairy queen’s housepet. They rose to their feet with a sob of wild laughter.

Ein stumbled into the garden beneath the arch. Only once they were within Deathbower could they see the rot consuming entire flower beds. The hedges were full of gaps and fissures. A wooden gazebo stood at the far end, its wood discolored and warped. Beyond its rotted pillars was a wrought-iron gate, reading “Deathbower” in backward script. 

Ein ran, thorns sticking through their bodysuit as they tore through the flowerbeds. The hedges rattled with a hollow clicking. They didn’t dare look over their shoulder.

They didn’t have to. A catrina psychopomp, a skeleton dressed in a long, flowing dress dropped down from the ceiling of the gazebo. A halo of bright flowers crowned her skull. She pointed a bony claw at Ein.

“Get them!”

Skeletons in gardener’s green, rubber aprons and black wellies burst from the hedges. Each was armed with razor-sharp shears, spades, and rakes. They stabbed and slashed at the running mortal.

Ein screamed as the blades ripped blood and black fabric from their skin. The catrina tipped back their skull in raucous, tooth-chattering laughter.

The long spokes of a rake tore through the meat of Ein’s calf. Their foot caught the spade under them, opening a deep gash. Ein crashed to their knees. The gardeners descended, blades and tines stabbing into their back.

“Stop! Stop!” Ein screamed, their crying eyes squeezed shut.

“Bring the mortal to me! In pieces!”

Metal shunked into flesh. Blood and black, feathery scraps spewing from the wounds. Ein grunted and screamed in agony. Their eyes bulged open despite the fear of being scooped out.

“STOP!”

A black pulse exploded from the mortal like the blink of a giant eye. The skeletons froze in mid-slaughter. Their blades fell limp at their sides, dripping red onto the dying garden.

“What the Bones are you doing?” yelled the catrina. “Bring me my prey!”

The undead, however, did not heed the psychopomp. They were under the command of a new master.

Ein rose shakily to their feet. They pointed a blood-slicked finger at the catrina. “Mulch that bitch.”

The gardeners raised their tools once more. They ran at the gazebo.

“No! Why are you listening to them?! No! Stop!”

The gardeners didn’t stop. Ein held their sides and stumbled around their stabbing, slashing, screaming mass. They didn’t have the strength to take their eyes off the gate.

They kicked open the door with a rusted screech. The first beams of sunlight in what seemed like a lifetime burst through the opened crack. The Dead Roads ahead shifted out of focus, all drifting into the warm, golden light.


End file.
